SoulfulSinful
by Delenn
Summary: Because you can’t appreciate a sin without a soul. "Smoke pushed through cherry stained lips like dripping white sin; a curling and seductive addiction."


**Disclaimer: See, there's this god that walks around on earth, and this god, he owns 'em all. Bow down to the great Joss! Ya'know, 'cause I'm just a lowly fan who likes to sneak in and borrow the characters; Hey, I promised to return 'em, eventually.   
  
Author's Notes: What can I say; I have no idea where these story ideas come from. Uh, let's see, this is shortish, finished, and all I can say is that you aren't supposed to know **exactly** what happened, but if you look close enough, it should be rather obvious. It's a R story in a PG-13 mask. Because there's nothing in there that's R, but everything that's implied is. ;) That statement doesn't make sense to you? It's not supposed to, mate! lol.   
  
Story Notes: Takes place in late Season 7 of _BtVS_. All the other stuff you'll have to read before I tell you.   
  
Summary: Because you can't appreciate a sin without a soul. Smoke pushed through cherry stained lips like dripping white sin; a curling and seductive addiction.   
  
Rated: PG-13 because it's all up to what you imagine to be going on.   
  
Date Started/Finished: January 17th, 2004**   
  


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Soulful/Sinful   
By ~Delenn~

  
  
  
  
Smoke pushed through cherry stained lips like dripping white sin; a curling and seductive addiction.   
  
Calming, repetitive, deep breath, suck in, let it slide back out through a perfect 'O' of the lips. Burning death wrapped up in a smooth package with soft clouds of smoke to mask the innate danger. Hiding so well that each practiced breath in brings death a little nearer, pain a little sharper...   
  
Lazy, fiery, chocolate eyes sweep to the side, and as is their ritual, slide leisurely across the view that is presented. Hazed with water from the smoke, everything still appears sharp due to the minds demands. A brain that has been conditioned not to accept anything less than perfect.   
  
There is an amused smirk playing upon a pale, hard and soft seeming mouth. So still as nonexistent breath pushes the smoke forth in a long, steady, stream. Not dying and burning, oh no, this is death, the one sent to burn others.   
  
Icy blue eyes belay a smoldering look, hotter than the tip of the cigarettes, full of wicked good sin, promises dancing of exquisite pain and pleasure. Things undreamed of even by one so tainted.   
  
Matched stroke for stroke by answering breaths of fire and smoke. Thick cherry lips and heavy lidded eyes that speak a tacit agreement of undiscovered wonders for both.   
  
A familiar game, pleasant, but no longer enough. The buzz of fire is dancing lower, through bodies and hearts, dead and alive alike and the soothing blanket of thick smoke isn't doing anything to put out the fire, just urging it on.   
  
Instantly, hands come up and pluck away the cigarettes, cradling them between fingers that are alternately deep blood red and dark black of night. One hand so tanned and warm, the other pale and cold.   
  
White-hot ice passes through entwined fingers, squashing the fire firmly and replacing it with a drive far more intense. Harsh breaths, cool lips, crushing hard and teasingly soft at the same time.   
  
Not gentle, but laughing, daring the vicious vixen to come out and greet the demon in battle; cigarettes long since forgotten, held up only barely by the tightly clenched hands trying to pull each other closer, claw through one another first.   
  
Sharp pinpricks of desire and pain, washing both into a haze of the deep cherry that is flowing so freely over their souls. The heady feel of flesh on flesh, cold immersed in delicious heat, drowns out persistent clamoring from above.   
  
The tingle that runs down both bared spines is both a warning at such tightly clenched proximity and the inaudible hiss that drives both forward towards the brink of the end.   
  
It tastes like death, blood, despair. Yet, there is more, as they come up out of the dark lagoon and into the fogged whitish-gray of reality again; there is the unmistakable tang of ecstasy.   
  
Thrown gasping and choking back into the world, reborn in an instant of fire and clarity.   
  
Snatching at the fallen cigarettes and snubbing them out in the ashtray next to the bed, there is only a second to catch a deep breath of the stinging harsh air that flows around them in a cocoon from the rest of the world.   
  
The second that she turns back from her life-saving task, cool lips crash against hers again, still entwined limbs stir and move, as they press back into the cocoon surrounding the bed.   
  
Nobody is there to see everything change; too afraid of the safe cocoon of deadly white smoke that engulfs the two so frequently away from reality.   
  
Too soon though, they must get up, choke and weave through the thick smoke to a window, force the safe but deadly blanket to leave them. Harsh and naked in the shadows of the new day's light.   
  
Knowing eyes, content yet still suggestive lips, clothes gathered and cigarettes tucked away. A new rite of their secret days begun.   
  


Not Yet **The End**

  
  
**Final Thoughts**: Now that you've reached the conclusion of this little trip of Del's into new realms of writing. I offer some explanation for myself. First off, what exactly IS the setting? This story is assuming that despite Buffy's ill-timed interruption where she obviously expected the worst of an innocent situation, Spike and Faith continued their little rendezvous over smoking. There ya go that's all the explaining I hope to have to do. Feel free to let me know what you thought, especially since this isn't one of my normal pairings. 


End file.
